


The Favorite Wife

by spinner33



Series: CM - AU [6]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Armor Porn, Damsel in Distress, Drugged Reid, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, M/M, Medieval AU, Trickery!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid is reading romance novels and fantasizing that members of the team are people in the book.  </p><p>Knight Aaron; Soldier Reid; Moor Morgan; Assassin Prentiss; Priest Rossi; Squire JJ; Harem Queen Garcia</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains one scene of questionable consent.

“What witchery is this?!” The Moor bellowed angrily as he stalked back and forth in front of the prisoner who lay in a heap at his feet.

It was one of those daydreams that one knew instantly was but a dream, but Reid still felt it was so real. The man who stalked back and forth before him looked like Derek Morgan and sounded like Derek Morgan, but he was not Spencer’s trusted friend. The Moor’s garb was beautiful – his turban bedecked with a large ruby, his fingers stiff with golden rings, his chest bare but for an embroidered vest with tiny pearls and beads of gold, his trousers and robe also of the finest silks as well. The deep reds and lush golds reminded Reid vaguely of a shirt Derek had worn recently, and he decided that must have been what his mind was using to build this elaborate fantasy.

The Moor glared angrily down at Spencer, then sent his bewildered gaze back to the only other figure in the vast room. Reid stopped cataloguing columns of marble and tile laid out in elaborate designs, in order to study the other figure too.

“Assassin!” The Moor shouted. The lithe, tall figure clothed all in black bowed and approached.

“Your Highness,” she said. Reid recognized Prentiss’s voice, and knew it was Emily’s eyes staring back through the dark cloth that masked her face.

“You were sent to bring my mortal enemy’s favorite wife.” 

“A task which I have fulfilled, My Prince.”

Reid tucked his head to his chest and covered his face with his arms as the Moor slapped the Assassin hard enough to knock her five feet across the tile floor. She skidded to a halt and put a hand to her hidden face. It wasn’t fear in her eyes but loathing that greeted the Moor as he yelled again.

“Are you attempting to deceive me, Assassin? Do you think I cannot see that what you have brought me is a man?”

“Your Highness, you bid that I should bring you the person from your enemy’s household that he most cherishes, or the advisor whose counsel he most adheres to, or the woman that most often shares his bed. I have brought all three in this one person,” the Assassin motioned one arm at the prisoner as she regained her feet and straightened her frame, refusing to cower as Reid was doing.

“Assassin, you would not dare lie to me. You know I would punish you swiftly and severely for such a transgression.”

“My Prince, I have brought you Lord Aaron’s favorite wife, at great personal risk.”

“But he is a man,” the Moor stressed. 

“Why does that matter, My Prince?”

The Moor stood over Spencer, and Reid, curious as always, raised his eyes. He was immediately struck across the face. He was seeing stars, and realized that the coldness he felt against his face was the tile floor.

“Have the harem wash and clean him. See that he is prepared. I will have him in my bed tonight, where I can judge for myself why he holds such sway over Lord Aaron.”

With that, the Moor stomped away, pushing through the metal screen-covered exit, and slapping the first person who crossed his path.

The Assassin was at the prisoner’s side at once, lifting him by one elbow.

“Come. His Highness has commanded it,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon was spent being bathed, scrubbed, cleaned, and massaged with perfumes and oils. His hair was trimmed. His beard was shaved. His body was decorated with strange designs in paint and flavored pastes.

During this afternoon, Reid was plied with strong cups to drink – not alcohol, because that was forbidden – but sweet juices that were laced with potions that would dampen his fear and heighten his anticipation for when His Highness would arrive at his bed chamber that evening. In fact, after the third such cup of fruity potions, Reid had begun to forget where he was and why.

The sun set. Evening turned into night. Reid was guided to the large oval bed which was overflowing with fine pillows and silken curtains and blankets that were stiff with embroidery and jewels. He was guided because he could not longer keep his feet without help. The air around him was so heavy with perfumes and incense that he fought to take a deep breath and not pass out.

He was laid out on the soft surface, positioned seductively on the pillows to hide the fact that he was stoned out of his senses and could hardly move on his own. His robe, almost transparent, did nothing to conceal his nakedness. The patterns that had been painted on his body were visible through the cloth – dark reds and browns in swirls and geometric designs.

His Highness arrived late, having come from dinner and a council meeting, and he seemed eager, if unschooled. For this schooling, he had brought a most-trusted advisor. Perhaps indeed, she was his favorite wife.

“He is far more fetching once bathed and cleaned,” the Moor commented, approaching the bed. The second figure approached as well.

Even through the drugged haze, Spencer knew Penelope Garcia when he saw her. And he could see a lot of her. Far too much of her. Really something he hadn’t wanted to imagine. Voluptuous. That was a nice word. Garcia was very voluptuous in the super- tight embroidered vest and baggy trousers which matched the Moor’s outfit of red and gold silks. She looked as though a deep breath would unseat both breasts and half her stomach as well. Her robe, unlike the Moor’s robe, was as transparent as Reid's was. Her skin, where visible, was painted with similar swirls and geometric designs. Her platinum blonde hair was piled high on her head, and held in place by a diadem that was studded with rubies and pearls. She looked very much a queen.

“Is the Assassin attempting to trick you, My Prince?”

“She swears to me that she has seen this creature lie with Lord Aaron exactly, or nearly so, as I would lie with any of my harem girls. My Beloved, tell me, is such a thing possible?” the Moor asked of her.

“My Dearest Prince, I have heard tales of such things in brothels that cater to diverse tastes. Perhaps that is where Lord Aaron found him—in a brothel.”

“I doubt that,” the Moor replied, moving closer still. “Lord Aaron is not a knight who frequents such places. He keeps company with his soldiers and his advisors, not with whores or sinful men. It is far more likely that this creature was once an acolyte or a page or a squire. Tell me, what is your womanly opinion of him?”

“Lord Aaron or this creature?” she asked.

“This creature,” the Moor indicated. 

“In what sense, My Prince?”

“Is he a man you would lie with?”

“My Prince, you know my heart and my body are yours and yours alone. When I gaze across the world, day to day, I see no man but you.”

“If I were to grant you permission to gaze upon him with such intentions, is he a man you would lie with?”

“No, My Prince, not even with your permission,” she replied, her lip curling with disdain.

“Thank God,” Reid mumbled.

The Moor and His Beloved both cast dark gazes at the prisoner, who cackled softly and fell back into silence.

“You have heard tales of men lying with men as a man would lie with a woman,” the Moor said to His Beloved. “Show me. I would know why he holds sway over my enemy. Where do I begin?”

“As with a woman, My Prince, you must persuade him.” 

“With gifts? Jewels? Silks?”

“With kisses and tender caresses, My Prince.”

The Moor, looking none too sure of himself, sat down on the oval bed near to Reid’s side. He put one hand on Spencer’s stomach. Reid looked down at the hand, noted how large and powerful it was, noted the huge arm it was attached to, and the shoulder that bulged outward like the head of a column. He looked up and felt dark brown eyes boring into him from less than an inch away.

Lips brushed his mouth.

Reid clenched his eyes closed, and tears welled up in them. He whimpered Aaron’s name. The hand on his stomach moved up to his chest, started undoing the robe that covered him. In spite of the potions and preparations, fear welled up with the tears. He began to tremble.

“Not so unlike a woman,” the Moor observed. A hand smoothed Reid’s hair. “What do you fear? Do you fear me? But I would never harm you. You are as valuable to me as all my harem. I hold in you the power to destroy my enemy. I would not harm you.”

A kiss touched his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. Reid thought to move his arms to block the heavy form that moved over him, but he could not lift his arms. He thought to move his legs and lift his knees, to push away the Moor, but his limbs would not obey. A hand was moving inside his robe, caressing his skin. Reid whimpered Aaron’s name again.

“My Prince! A messenger,” the Beloved exclaimed. The Moor’s favorite wife touched him gently on the arm. The Moor paused, rolled off of the prisoner, and stood up from the bed.

“Enter and speak,” the Moor commanded. Reid kept his eyes closed, tried to still his racing heart.

“Your Highness. Lord Aaron has surrendered himself.”

“He has surrendered the field of battle? He will withdraw his forces from the city?” the Moor asked excitedly.

“You have won, My Prince!” the Beloved exclaimed.

“No, Your Highness. Lord Aaron has surrendered himself to our mercy, in exchange for the person who was stolen from him,” the messenger said.

The Moor stood still where he was, and cast an eye back towards the bed. Reid was gazing around, eyes bleary, but ears alive with the news.

“AARON!” he screamed out. “AARON!”

There was noise outside the Moor’s bed chamber. A scuffle? A disturbance? The Moor was still staring at the prisoner. Disbelief colored his handsome face.

“The Assassin did not deceive me then,” the Moor murmured to the Beloved. “Remind me to reward her for this.” 

“Aaron….” Reid sobbed.

“Bring him in,” the Moor commanded.


	3. Chapter 3

Having stared across many a battlefield, having launched arrows and flaming boulders and dead carcasses across many a battlement, having stared in hatred and despair and hostility at one another for so many years, this was in fact the first time the Moor and Lord Aaron had met face to face.

Lord Aaron was a tall man. It wasn’t as if the Moor was small – he wasn’t. But the Knight seemed to tower over the guards that held his arms. His silver chest plates and gauntlets and cuisses glittered brightly in the torchlight. Though disarmed of his sword and his dagger and a veritable myriad of deadly spikes, he remained intimidating. The Moor decided the Knight would have been intimidating even if standing there in his bare skin, mostly because there would have been little if any bare skin showing through the bristles and tufts and pelts of dark hair which covered the Knight.

The Knight was thinking the same thing of the Moor, except for the hair. The Moor was decidedly-handsome, and intimidating, and clean-shaven on his face and head as well. They studied each other up and down. The Knight’s dark eyes were filled with arrogance and hostility and fear, oh yes, fear too, and the Moor knew why. The Knight’s eyes fell and stayed on the figure on the bed. Lord Aaron peeled off his dark blue cloak and swooped towards the supine form.

The Moor did not move to stop him. He watched as the Knight covered the prisoner with the dark blue cloak, lifted him under the shoulders and the knees, cradled him against his hard metal chest plate. The prisoner sobbed into Lord Aaron’s neck, holding tight to him. The Knight nuzzled his face, kissed his forehead, soothed his trembling.

The Moor had thought he might feel satisfaction to have dealt the Knight such a blow, but it was guilt the Moor felt most of all. There was a narrow seam where the cloak was not covering the prisoner. Lord Aaron’s eyes traced the patterns drawn on Reid’s bare skin, patterns visible through the robe he was clothed in, patterns that were smeared where the Moor had dared to touch him. The Moor stared down at his own hands – dark red and deep brown paints dappled his fingers and his palms. He felt shame, and put his hands behind his back, concealing the gesture by turning and striding for the entrance, where another riot of noise and scuffling was heard.

“Who dares to disturb me?” the Moor bellowed. Two more figures were thrown into the room at the Moor’s feet—a portly priest and a tiny squire.

“God damn it all,” the Knight swore angrily from the bed. “I commanded you two to remain at the city walls. Why have you disobeyed me?”

Even from a seated position, even with his favorite wife clinging to him for dear life, the Knight could make people tremble and obey. The Moor was impressed.

“Lord Aaron, we have not disobeyed you,” the portly priest said, coming into the room, kneeling before his master at the side of the bed. “If you cast your eyes outside the window there, you will see that we do remain, as it were, at the city walls.”

The Knight did as the Priest had suggested, and cast his eyes towards the window. They were indeed mere feet from the city walls. Lord Aaron smirked. Dave Rossi smirked back.

“So you have, Father. Forgive my words.”

“It was your squire, my lord, who conceived that we could obey and disobey you, serve and protect you, follow you.”

“Squire,” the Knight growled, pointing to the ground next to the bed. The tiny squire peeled off her helmet, and her blonde hair spilled everywhere. She threw herself down at his feet.

The Moor caught his breath and cast his eyes from the Squire to his Beloved. His Beloved was giggling behind her hand.

“My Prince, how strange these Northerners are, that they would accept a man in a woman’s role, and a woman in a man’s role,” the Beloved commented to the Moor.

“Forgive me, sire. I have obeyed yet disobeyed. When you took me for your squire, you said my duty was to follow and protect and arm and serve you. I cannot do those from afar. I must remain always at your side to fulfill my duties. Thus I sought to put myself at your side once more and always. The Priest, good man that he is, faithful to you as I am, knew that he could not let me set forth in this task alone. Therefore, you may blame his disobedience on me, for I am the cause of his rebellion against your express command. If I have displeased you with my actions, I beg that you show mercy, for it was my desire to protect you, my lord, which spurred me to do what I have done,” the Squire said.

“What you have done, my faithful hound, is earned yourself a knighthood. Would that half my men would show such bravery as you have, Lady Jennifer. I am truly sorry you will enjoy this exalted status though briefly, but it is truly well-deserved,” Lord Aaron said, putting a hand on her shoulder and nodding his gratitude to her.

“I would follow you unto the very Gates of Hell, my lord,” the Lady Knight breathed.

“You may well have, my child,” the Priest interjected as the Moor stalked over to them and studied them, a tableau of strangers clinging together at the side of his bed. One of them smelled strongly of pork. He wasn’t sure which one, but he suspected it was the Priest.

“What a curious menagerie you are. I am most tempted to cage you and put you on display, so that the citizenry could see what a fearsome enemy you really are,” the Moor murmured. “But I am not an unjust man.”

He clapped his hands loudly and bellowed at his guards.

“Prepare a table, and a feast. Bring our advisors. We will map out a peace that should please both sides. If your forces will leave our city unmolested as you burn a path towards Christendom, I will leave you the very same way—unmolested,” the Moor promised.

“That seems a just plan,” Lord Aaron agreed.

“I am in a position to be just, as I have the upper hand. You have surrendered to me. Would I be shown the same mercy and justice were the tables turned?” the Moor asked.

“You would be, and you will be,” Lord Aaron promised. The Moor puzzled over the meaning of the Knight’s remark, until he saw the flaming arrows shoot up from the city walls in a ring of fire that lit the night sky.

“What treachery is this?” the Moor bellowed. His guards weren’t sure what to do – stay by their master’s side or run to the battlements and protect the city.

“I am here, but my soldiers are not,” Lord Aaron explained. “I told them if I did not return within half an hour, they could advance. And they have done so, though the time is not yet to half an hour. Please, Your Highness, as you said. Let us have a table, a feast, and prepare a peace that will please both sides. I no more wish to lay your city to waste than you wish to see it done. I care not for riches, nor gold, nor for earthly power, nor for earthly wealth. I wish only to look upon far Jerusalem with mine own eyes, and then to survive to see my son again in England.”

The Moor’s eyes bulged. He looked back and forth between the Knight and the prisoner, and back again.

“You share a son?” the Moor questioned. “But that isn’t possible, is it?”

“My son is from my first wife, God keep her soul,” the Knight explained.

“Ah,” the Moor nodded. “I understand. This is your second wife?”

“So he is, I suppose,” the Knight smiled, rubbing fondly through the sandy brown locks under his hand.

“How many wives do you have?” the Moor asked. 

“None but this one, Your Highness,” the Knight replied.

“How sad. I have twenty seven wives, and twice as many women in my harem. How do you plan to treat them if you fell me here tonight?”

“You have not harmed me, and I shall not harm you. Nor anyone dear to you,” the Knight replied, casting an appreciative eye towards the Moor’s Beloved.

“It is trickery, My Prince. You cannot trust him,” the Moor’s Beloved cautioned.

“You will give me your word that my city and my household will be spared?” the Moor asked, disbelief in his voice and in his face.

“You already have it, Your Highness, but I will give it again, if it pleases you and it will bring us more speedily towards our peace negotiations.”

“Trickery, My Prince,” the Moor’s Beloved whispered. “Trickery,” she repeated.

“There will be no trickery, my lady,” the Priest promised. “You have a knight’s word. His word is his honor. He will not betray that promise.”

“Come then. Let us see about that feast. And peace,” the Moor acquiesced, motioning at his guards, who fled ahead of him and raced to obey.

Lord Aaron stood up from the bed and held out a hand. Though Reid put his hand in Aaron’s grip, he could not rise to his feet. He swayed unsteadily as he sat up. The Priest took the Favorite Wife’s other hand, and between them, the Knight and the Priest were able to pull him to his feet. Reid tilted against Aaron’s shoulder and stayed there. His feet would not move. Lord Aaron mused a smile, and lifted Reid up, carrying him easily along.

“You were right, my dear,” Aaron whispered to Reid. 

“Of course I was,” Reid whispered back.

“Your plan worked perfectly,” the Knight murmured.

“Of course it did,” Reid smiled. “Why is the room spinning?” 

“The room isn’t spinning. I think your mind must be,” the Knight replied.

“He never has held his drink well,” the Priest observed from one side. The Lady Knight moved in from the other side, lifting Lord Aaron’s dark blue cloak and tucking it around Reid’s almost bare form. Lord Aaron observed her blushing face and did not miss the opportunity to tease her gently.

"You said you would follow me to the Gates of Hell, Lady Jennifer. Do the Gates of Heaven not beckon you with equal measure?"

"No, sire. They do not."

"Glad to hear it," Lord Aaron replied as the Priest chuckled.

“The Assassin, My Prince,” the Beloved asked the Moor as he took her by the hand and led her away.

“Yes, Beloved?” the Moor questioned.

“How do you plan to reward her, My Prince? With pearls and finery, or with lashes from your whip?”

“Perhaps with both,” the Moor mused nervously. “If I ever find her again….”

“I do not worry that you will never find her,” the Moor’s Beloved replied. “I do worry, My Prince, that she will someday find you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t believe you read that crap,” Aaron laughed softly. Reid lowered his tawdry romance novel, and cast wounded and defensive eyes at Hotch.

“This from the man with a sizeable collection of….”

“Hey…”

“….pornographic magazines which….” 

“Hey….”

“….which would make Hugh Hefner cry and cling to his mother’s apron?” Reid finished, nibbling on his fingernails and closing his book.

“You said you wouldn’t judge.” 

“I’m not judging.”

“I can’t believe you like that tripe, that’s all.”

“Where is it written that all geniuses get to read is intellectual, educational, scientific material?”

“It’s the difference between steak and popcorn.”

“Sometimes I want steak, and sometimes I want popcorn,” Reid answered.

“That shit will rot your brain,” Aaron commented.

“Turn out the light before I throw something at you,” Reid growled, putting down his book and getting up from the settee.

The light went out. Reid circled the bed and slid into Aaron’s arms, straddling his hips and whimpering with lust.

“Well, okay. I suppose they’re not a complete waste of time,” Hotch conceded as Reid put his hands above Aaron’s shoulders and bent down to nuzzle their noses together.

“Shut up, my lord, and ravage me,” Spencer murmured. 

“Ravage? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Shall I demonstrate, my lord?” 

“Yes, please,” Aaron grinned.

“With pleasure, my lord,” Reid growled, sinking his teeth into Aaron’s neck.


End file.
